We Regret
by Simon920
Summary: Maria learns about Horatio's probable fate after he's captured by the French. This follows story line in the CS Forrester books, not the series, though there are some overlaps where I've used combined the two a bit.


TITLE: We Regret...

AUTHOR: Simon

RATING: G

WARNING: death fic with major angst

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters; I make no money from them.

SUMMARY: Pellew and Bracegirdle tell Maria that Hornblower has been killed

ARCHIVE: surely, if you'd like

FEEDBACK: Of course, that's half the fun...! 

We Regret...

"Mrs. Hornblower?" He discretely looked over the small, obviously pregnant woman standing in the open door before him.

"Yes?" She wondered what these men could want with her. High-ranking Navy officers, that much was apparent, they must be Horry's friends coming to visit. It couldn't be the other.

It couldn't.

"I'm Commodore Sir Edward Pellew, and this is Captain Bracegirdle. Please forgive our intrusion, but might we have a word with you?"

Instantly she realized, from a distance, that she felt numb.

Oh God.

No.

Not Horry.

Not now, not when things were going well again. She went white, Pellew's hand automatically coming up to steady her arm, but she attempted the courtesies. Her husband would expect no less of her.

"Yes, of course. Do please come in."

She took their hats, placing them on the hall table, hung their cloaks on the pegs by the door. They looked just like Horatio's things.

Seated in the somewhat shabby parlour, the men saw that she seemed to be dazed. Well, she knew why they were there. It wasn't surprising. Horatio wouldn't have a stupid wife.

She sat with them, her hands unconsciously wringing in her lap. "Would you gentlemen like some tea? The water is just hot." She seemed desperate to escape to compose herself before they could tell her what they had come for.

"Yes, please. That would be appreciated on a cold day." Pellew allowed her the delay in receiving their news.

Not speaking, the two men looked at the room. The furniture was old and worn, the décor, such as it was, told of little sophistication and certainly little money. On a shelf were some of his books. In the corner were some toys. They seemed to be abandoned.

"I believe that they lost two children to that smallpox outbreak a year or two ago."

"Lord, and now this."

"Did you know that she was expecting?"

"No."

The two men stood as she came through the door carrying a tray containing the tea things—the cups and pot and a small cake. Pellew reached to take it from her as she indicated the low table on which it was to be placed.

Seated again and with Maria pouring the tea, her hand with the slightest tremble in it, she quietly asked without looking up. "Has something happened to my husband?"

Sir Edward was the one to answer. "You were told by the Admiralty that his ship--that Sutherland was forced aground about six weeks ago, Mrs. Hornblower?"

"Yes. I understood that he was a prisoner of the French and that he would likely be well treated because of his rank. I had a letter from him. He said that he was unharmed."

She looked at the men. They were watching her in case she started screaming or fainted.

Oh God. But he wrote and said that she wasn't to worry, he was well treated. He never lied to her. Never.

"Please tell me." She spoke into the thick silence. The men glanced at each other. She felt sorry for them, having to come and tell her. It must be very bad if they couldn't bring themselves to speak.

"We've had word that Captain Hornblower was convicted of war crimes by the French government."

She looked at them. Did this mean that he wouldn't be as well treated as she had hoped? But he was a senior Captain. They wouldn't harm him. They wouldn't. There were rules for that sort of thing.

The other man, Bracegirdle spoke now, softly and regretfully. "He was taken to Paris for execution three weeks ago. We have reason to believe that the sentence was carried out."

She looked at him, trying to make sense out of the words he was saying to her. It was like being underwater when she was a child. She could hear the sounds, but they were muffled and indistinct, almost like another language. She was suddenly aware of her heart beating in her chest. It seemed very loud to her.

Horry executed? Her husband was dead? Is that what they had come to tell her? Well, yes, she told herself. Of course that's why they were here.

"How would he have been killed?" She asked as if she were inquiring if they took milk or lemon in their tea. A mild, polite request for information.

"Most likely they would have used the guillotine. It's said to be painless, M'am. That's some comfort." The answer equally mild and soft-spoken. The men exchanged glances again. This calmness wasn't natural.

It was shock.

"Have you someone we could call for you? Is there someone who can stay with you, Mrs. Hornblower?"

"My mother, I suppose." Maria gave the smallest of smiles. "Horry never liked her."

She sat with her terrible stillness again. "Did you know him?"

The senior man, Pellew? answered. He spoke gently. "Yes, we both knew him quite well. He served on Indefatigable with us for several years. He was an exceptional man, and a friend. He'll be greatly missed."

"Yes." The platitudes were going to make her scream. What did these men know of her husband? That he could navigate a ship and keep discipline? That he could shoot and wield a sword when need be? They knew nothing of him. They had never seen him playing on the floor with the children, they knew nothing of the man who held her in his arms at night or tended the baby so that she might sleep. Who shorted himself with his pay so that she might have just a bit more. They knew nothing of him.

"He was the finest officer it's ever been my privilege to know, M'am." It was the other man speaking again, the Captain. He seemed nice.

"That's kind of you to say, sir."

"I not an idle flatterer, Mrs. Hornblower. I've never met his equal; the Commodore will vouch for that. His loss is—great."

"Yes."

The older man started talking to her again. "I've made the arrangements for you to receive his pay. And, forgive me, if there is anything that you need, please allow me to..."

"Thank you, you're very kind, but that's not necessary. Horatio would never hear of it."

"I would like to insist, if you'll allow me. Your husband was very dear to me, Mrs. Hornblower. I would consider it an honor to assist you, if you will permit me. I could not bear to know that you or his child wanted for anything."

"Thank you, sir. Perhaps we might speak on this another time, not now. Not right now."

The awful silence descended again.

"Should I expect his sea chest to be sent home?"

The Captain answered. "I'm afraid that it was lost with Sutherland. And we've not received word of any effects..." he stopped, realizing what he had just said. She nodded her acknowledgement. Maria was interested to see the Commodore seemed to be fighting to retain his composure. It was as unreal as the rest of the visit.

There seemed nothing else to say. They had delivered their message.

She stood. "Thank you for bringing me the news yourselves, gentlemen. It must not be an easy task to be the bearers of such tidings. You're both kind to take this upon yourselves."

They were moving to the door, gathering their hats and cloaks. Pellew turned back to her, taking her hand in his own.

"Mrs. Hornblower, you truly do have my deepest sympathy. He was the finest man I've known. I would be honored if you would permit me to call upon you when I'm in port."

"That would be lovely, sir. Yes, thank you." She seemed to not really care, still dazed, but was polite to him.

The other man with the odd name said much the same thing. God, would they never leave?

"You'll have your mother come? Shall we send for her, perhaps send a carriage?"

"No, thank you. I'll send for her."

Finally, finally, they were gone. She closed the door behind them and turned to get the tea things from the next room.

Horatio was dead.

She picked up the tray, piled with the dishes and started to the pantry when she caught her heel on the loose rug edge, tripping.

The dishes crashed with an obscene sound, broken. Useless now, couldn't be repaired no matter what she did. Finished, over. Their beauty gone, smashed, leaving ruin and trash and a stain to show where they had fallen.

And a child.

She was a widow. Her—their—child now fatherless.

They had spent so little time together, really, but she had known that he was there, that he would walk back in the door someday. She had held onto that thought as the months and years had passed.

She had loved him. She did love him.

Sitting on the floor, she began to cry, great heaving sobs that continued on and on until she feared for the safety of her baby. They racked her body and, from a distance, she heard the sounds she made. Some part of her mind observed that she sounded like a dying animal.

He was dead. He had been killed. The French had murdered him.

Almost as suddenly as they started, the tears stopped. She sat there on the floor, unmoving. And as she sat there, she began to think that she would have to be strong now for Horry. No, for Horatio. She knew that he had hated that nickname, but it was a small thing that was just hers, no one else ever had called him that, and so it made her special to him. It was a part that no one else had of him.

They had cut his head off. Against her will, she could picture it. His calmness, the sun shining on him, the blade raised up, his kneeling, the sound of the knife falling, the blood...

Slowly, painfully as an old woman moves, she pulled herself to her feet.

Somehow she had known that being with him wouldn't last. He was golden. If she could do everything to make sure that his child was healthy, some part of him would still be here with her.

Then the last part left of him would survive.

This one would live. She would see to it. Now nothing else mattered.

He was dead.

8/27/02

6


End file.
